


golden

by viridae



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Morning Kisses, Non-Sexual Intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:48:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24397555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viridae/pseuds/viridae
Summary: Neil loves mornings like these, where nothing exists except for him and Andrew.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 16
Kudos: 257





	golden

He wakes up to the feel of Andrew’s hands in his hair. 

Last night, they had fallen asleep together: one leg, hooked over Andrew, face tucked into the crook of his neck. They had inevitably shifted during the night, as they always did, and now his head is on Andrew’s chest, arms loosely draped over him. 

He can tell that Andrew woke up earlier than him. His skin is fresh from a recent shower, the gentle smell of lavender body wash fragrant. Neil doesn’t know when Andrew left their bed, how long he’s been awake, but evidently Neil was tired enough to sleep through any disturbance— and tired enough to curl right back up to Andrew once he came back.

That’s new for him. Not the exhaustion, but the ability to sleep through any disturbance.

For the first few months that he and Andrew attempted to sleep in the same bed, Neil’s sleeping was twitchy and disturbed. Waking up to the familiar sight of Andrew was grounding, but it couldn’t yet shake the jittery urges to run. 

Over time, that instinct evened out, waves lapping at a shore. He slept through five, ten, one hundred nights peacefully. But one thing tended to stay constant; once Andrew woke, Neil did as well. 

This morning is a peaceful reminder that he doesn’t need to be constantly vigilant— he can sleep until the sun reaches its peak, guiltlessly, and he can be safe inside Andrew’s arms, sheltered from everything else.

Andrew’s hand threads gently through his hair, combing through it and tracing smooth lines onto his scalp, nonsense patterns and letters. Sunlight filters in through Neil’s eyelids, turning his world red.

“ _Beautiful_ ,” he murmurs, so quietly that Neil knows Andrew hadn’t intended for him to hear it. 

Neil doesn’t want to react, doesn’t want to break this early morning cocoon around them, but Andrew’s voice still sends a fine shiver through his body. He makes a sleepy, muffled noise. Andrew’s hand stills for a moment before resuming. 

“Good morning,” Neil says, voice rusty from sleep. Andrew echoes the sentiment back. 

Casual touch, intimacy, tenderness: Neil’s had experience with them in the last three years, but they still feel startlingly new. Neil used to think that neither he nor Andrew had the constitution for tenderness; they were both roughened from life, all jagged edges and barbed walls. But over time, they had smoothed over each other's wounds as best they could. 

In mornings like this, it’s easy for both of them to bare themselves, as raw and vulnerable as it feels. Everything about this Sunday morning feels like a tremendous, hazy dream, something Neil couldn’t have imagined four years ago. 

“My legs are falling asleep,” Andrew mutters, and it startles a small laugh out of Neil, who shifts so that his entire weight isn’t resting on Andrew. He blinks his eyes open, adjusting to the sunlight, and regretfully untangles himself from Andrew.

“What time is it?”

“Eleven.”

Neil pushes himself up to a sitting position, and the blanket tucked around his shoulders slips down to his waist. He shivers, missing the warmth. 

“How long have you been up?”

“About an hour,” Andrew says. “You were asleep.”

“I want to go back to sleep.”

Andrew pokes him. “Stop being a baby.”

Neil grins. “Do we have plans for today?”

“No plans,” Andrew says. “Just you.”

The inside of Neil’s chest blooms with warmth. He looks back to Andrew and asks, “Yes or no?”

When Andrew says yes, Neil props himself up and kisses Andrew’s cheek, as gently as he knows how. A pink flush spreads from where his lips touch. Andrew relaxes minutely, piece by piece, in Neil’s touch.

“You’re in a good mood,” Andrew says. 

Neil grins again, and enjoys the way Andrew’s eyes brighten slightly at it. “I’m with you.”

“You’re hopeless.” 

Neil doesn’t respond, and Andrew’s hands slide down to his, tracing circles over his knuckles and palms. Andrew pauses, the silences weighted, his eyes on Neil, and finally says, “I want to kiss your freckles.” 

Along with red hair, Neil also inherited a ridiculous amount of freckles, sprawled across his cheekbones and down his neck, up and down his forearms and splattered to the small of his back. He’s caught Andrew staring before, connecting the dots on his body in thready lines, but the idea of Andrew pressing his lips to _every_ freckle on Neil’s body makes his cheeks flame. 

“Yes,” Neil whispers, and watches as Andrew takes his left hand and kisses his knuckles. His lips land right on a mole between Neil’s pinky and ring finger. His touch is hot, and Neil watches, transfixed, as Andrew begins to kiss the smattering of ginger freckles on his forearms, in and out of circular scars. 

For a moment, another vision flashes before him, Andrew similarly holding his left hand, possibly a ring _,_ maybe the possibility of a future stretching out in front of him, always with Andrew by his side. 

_Maybe one day,_ he thinks dazedly, as Andrew’s mouth trails up his arm, as hands tug at his stretched-out shirt until Neil shifts to pull it off completely. _Maybe one day._

“Are you going to get me off?” Neil asks, and is almost surprised by the breathlessness of his voice. Andrew pauses.

“Just kissing,” he replies. “If that’s okay with you.”

“Anything,” Neil says, and notes with brimming satisfaction the reaction Andrew has to his words. 

“Stop talking,” Andrew says, and settles over Neil’s hips. He bends forward to kiss the freckles on the side of Neil’s neck. Neil hums and tilts his head to the side, giving Andrew better access, before curling his hands into Andrew’s blond curls and tugging his face back up to kiss him properly. 

“You’re very kind,” Neil murmurs once they separate for air, sharing the same breath. “And soft.”

“I thought I told you to shut up.” 

“Gentle,” Neil whispers. 

“Be quiet,” Andrew retorts, and presses his lips to a mole on Neil’s cheek. When he pulls back, Neil can’t tear his eyes away from him.

In this early morning light, Andrew looks softer, kinder, _gentler_. He looks less like a ferocious menace of a goalkeeper out on the court, less like the man made of hard lines and sharp edges who pressed Neil into the pavement of the roof.

Now, with one hand curled around Neil’s shoulders and the other linked with his hand, he looks like the man who knows how to bring Neil back from the verge of a panic attack with a hand on the nape of his neck. He looks like the man who falls asleep with his head pillowed on Neil’s chest, even when he doesn’t mean to. He looks like the Andrew who taped plastic over Neil’s jagged wounds and kissed him in the bathroom, underneath the soap and hot water, as softly as he knew how.

Andrew allows the staring for nearly a minute, before pushing away Neil’s cheek with one finger.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Can’t help it,” Neil says, the slightest smile on his lips. “You’re pretty.” 

“I hate you,” Andrew says, tone perfectly flat, with the slightest flush to his cheeks. 

In response, Neil ducks his head to catch Andrew in another kiss, slower and open mouthed. The sun rises higher in the background, but the room stays quiet, carpeted in peace.

Anyone listening would hear _I hate you,_ but Neil hears it for what it is, and thinks, louder than words, _I love you._

He curls back up to Andrew, as soon as Andrew gives him a _yes,_ leans his head on Andrew’s shoulder. Every part of Neil’s body is tingling, and he swears he can feel the phantom touch of Andrew’s kisses. 

“Should we get up?” 

Andrew looks down to their intertwined hands, to Neil’s legs, twisted with his.

“No,” he says eventually.

Neil hums. “Okay.”

Happiness is no longer new for him, no longer unfamiliar. Andrew’s hand is warm in his, and Neil allows his eyes to drift slowly shut again, and he thinks, _there’s no place I’d rather be._

**Author's Note:**

> please leave kudos/comments if you enjoyed <3


End file.
